


one day (i will reach you with my hand)

by vroomvroommic



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: I'm Sorry, Multi, i swear pokémon are somewhere in here, jk, lots and lots of unnecessary angst, there is a pokémon death i am warning, this actually sucks i feel so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vroomvroommic/pseuds/vroomvroommic
Summary: Doyoung thinks it's fitting that he always finds himself alone, even when he's not: it's always just himself sabotaging everything good he ever has.





	one day (i will reach you with my hand)

**Author's Note:**

> to my wonderful recipient: this might not be exactly what you wanted. it has far less pokémon than what i hoped for, and maybe too much angst. but i nevertheless had fun!! thank you so much for this experience, truly.
> 
> i apologize in advance for any mistakes or any of it not making sense. there is a lot of jumping back and forth in time, so expect some confusion if that's not your thing. uhhhhhh. i've been watching a lot of naruto lately and one of the opening songs seemed fitting for this. the title is inspired by [this naruto opening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9D_CZJAil8). (i wasn't joking)
> 
> thank you to the mods for their constant kindness and patience to put this on: y'all rock!

Despite the torrential rain falling all around him, the silence is deafening against his ears. Underneath him, the ground shifts lightly trying to accommodate the weight of his body and the rain that continues to fall. The mud that pools at his forehead is beginning to push up into his eyes, but Doyoung can’t find it in him to lift his head up. Straightening himself would entail facing reality and at the moment, he’s not really ready for that.

The cold pushes into his bones, Doyoung becoming aware of the hazardous conditions he’s walked outside to.

It’s as Doyoung internally debates moving toward a more sheltered area that he senses Blaziken’s presence nearby. Anyone else would not particularly be attuned to the Pokémon’s ability to control the relative temperature around it, but Doyoung has known Blaziken the majority of his life.

“You don’t need to be here,” Doyoung mutters into the ground beneath him, perhaps inaudibly in contrast to the rain’s intensity. It’s not as if Blaziken will heed his words either. “Really, I’m fine.”

Blaziken doesn’t reply, sensing Doyoung’s inner turmoil just as Doyoung had sensed her presence.

Knowing fully well that Blaziken would not leave without an answer, Doyoung swallows and digs his fingers into the ground beneath him, feeling the dirt enter underneath his nails. “I’m nervous for tomorrow,” Doyoung admits, finally lifting his head with a heavy heart, clothes drenched, toward Blaziken’s looming figure. “And I’m missing him terribly right now.”

Blaziken doesn’t wait for his body to shudder, buckle and give way; instead, the Pokemon disappears in the blink of an eye, and reappears by Doyoung’s side. Neither does his best friend hesitate to take him into her arms and run across the forest back to their accommodations in Icirrus City.

The familiar warmth that radiates from Blaziken’s body is enough to make him dizzy, but not hot enough to make him uncomfortable. Instead of retaliating, Doyoung digs the tip if his nose further into the Pokemon’s arm. If Blaziken notices the gesture, she does not make it apparent.

 

* * *

  

Doyoung and Blaziken start off on the wrong foot. He’s camping with his parents and Gongmyung in the vast grasslands near Fallarbor Town at the age of ten when his tent is set on fire by a wild Torchic.

Their parents have gone to a nearby well to collect more drinking water, leaving the two brothers alone when it happens. Luckily, Gongmyung’s Skip (a Mudkip he’d been given his first day of school) is there to put out the fire before it burns to ashes with Doyoung inside it. When Doyoung is face to face with the perpetrator of his near-death experience, he is met with a frustrated Torchic eyeing a lone Bluk berry on a tree behind their now half-standing tent.

“What’s wrong with this Torchic?” the older Gongmyung complains, picking up Skip into his arms. “It could have killed us!” Gongmyung begins to move toward the wild Torchic but is stopped by Doyoung’s firm hand on his elbow. Since a young age, Doyoung had been particularly interested in knowing everything there was to know about Pokémon. That’s why he knew that the Torchic in front of them, by nature, would not leave the site until it had retrieved the berry perched above.

“It’s trying to get the berry,” Doyoung points at the blue-almost-purple fruit. “Torchic are impatient and persistent by nature. It won’t rest until it gets it.” A pause. “Why don’t we help it get it?” Gongmyung seems ready to lecture Doyoung on why that’s unsafe, of all the things their parents will say if they found out, but Gongmyung stops himself before anything happens.

“Skip can help,” Doyoung supplies, knowing that his brother’s greatest qualm with his plan is Doyoung’s possible involvement. “Skip can hit it the branch the berry’s on with his water gun.” Gongmyung seems to consider it, and that’s already a victory in Doyoung’s book. A moment, then, “Skip, listen to Doyoungie.”

Doyoung returns his attention to the increasingly agitated Torchic before stepping closer to the tree. “All right, Skip. Hit that branch with the berry as close as you can!” He commands with a confidence that has his blood rushing at new levels. This is the first time Doyoung realizes he was born to befriend and battle alongside pokémon.

His plan seems to work as the berry falls alongside the branch, that is, until the branch falls on the berry, leaving a small puddle of blue goo to cover the grass next to the tree. The Torchic whips around, intent on murder if the reflection off its dark eyes is any indication.

“Doyoung—!” Gongmyung begins, but is stopped by Doyoung’s resolve. “No, hyung. Skip and I can handle this.”

Gongmyung doesn’t even get the opportunity to retaliate when the Torchic is launching a barrage of fire attacks their way. Doyoung has to side-step a few balls of fire at his feet, the other fire trails leaving blackened grass in their wake. “Skip, put out the small fires!”

Doyoung would be burned alive if the Torchic hadn’t chosen that exact moment to trip over itself, landing face-first onto the ground. In a burst of adrenaline, he balls his hands into fists with the exception of his right hand’s index finger. Bravely, he points toward the Torchic. “Use water gun now, Skip!” His voice is full of newfound confidence when he directs his brother’s Mudkip. Skip does as instructed, hitting the Torchic directly and, based off the countless books Doyoung has read on type-matching, super effectively.

The ground around them is slightly charred at spots, but the life beneath them continues to flourish. The Torchic struggles to stand upright, its movement cueing Gongmyung to finally intervene. “Doyoung!” he admonishes. “I didn’t give you permission to battle!”

Doyoung ignores his older brother, instead cutting his elder off with a sharp, “give me a Pokéball!” Gongmyung is once again confused, but then Doyoung adds, “quickly!” Gongmyung tosses Doyoung his bag, the lanky child shoving his hand in the larger pocket where he knows his brother stores an array of Pokéballs. He knows Gongmyung keeps his Pokéballs in order so he just needs to—

As if this is second nature to him, Doyoung pulls out a red and white pokéball and throws it with a slight curve, the same way the diagrams would illustrate in the books he’d read. The ball hits the Torchic, quickly encapsulating it in a red light before it minimizes the Torchic and stores it in the most torturous seconds of Doyoung’s life. By the third struggle within the Pokéball, Doyoung believes that the Torchic will break out and run away, or worse, blow them all into ashes. But then the Pokéball does the unexpected and stops its struggle on a piece of burnt grass. Doyoung blinks, blinks again, and finally digs his nails into the palm of his hand before realizing that all of this is real, that all of this is truly happening.

That’s the story of how he meets Torchic, his first Pokémon.

 

* * *

  

The storm that is raging outside of the hotel is almost as scary as the glare Yuta gives him when he returns, clothes drenched.

(Almost.)

As usual, the shorter man with flashy blond hair is surrounded by his infamous Pokémon team that is known throughout the country for their numerous wins at contests. By his feet, his Jolteon growls in a low, menacing way as if it knows that Doyoung’s latest antics have caused its trainer grief. Which, really, Doyoung doesn’t blame the Jolteon for.

Doyoung hasn’t seen Yuta in a few weeks, and their last encounter had ended in anything but amicable terms. Inching closer, Doyoung notices that Yuta’s dark brown roots have grown longer than Yuta usually likes to sport them. He also notes that Yuta might have done that intentionally as only the top of his head is blond. Yuta’s hair is cut in a way that showcases this contrast in color, the dark brown patch reduced to undercut length while the blond strands are slightly longer and styled with Yuta’s expensive gel.

Even from this distance, Yuta looks stunning. It appears that he has bulked up, but again, Doyoung isn’t sure as to how long this has been going on since their last encounter hadn’t allowed for any time to notice that.

Yuta’s arms are crossed, and his hands are gripping his forearms, leaving bright red spots in the areas around his fingers. Doyoung has known Yuta long enough to know it’s one of the elder’s nervous habits, and the guilt that had gripped him earlier when he’d seen Blaziken for the first time flooded his veins once more.

“Look,” Doyoung begins, surprised at how thin his own voice sounds, “it’s—”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Yuta snaps from the other side of the lobby, very uncharacteristic of a highly decorated Pokémon contest competitor at the Master rank. There’s only a few others in the room, the majority probably upstairs in the comfort of their lodges. The few that are there, however, stop and stare at the furious Yuta. Doyoung would be surprised if word of their altercation doesn’t get out within the next hour.

Yuta raises his arms to head level in an attempt to ease his tension. “You _knew_ the weather—”

“Yuta—” a step.

“—was going to be this bad, so why—”

“Yuta, please—” another step.

“—did you think you could play Arceus and—”

“Yuta!”

Apparently using his name to get the elder’s attention is the wrong choice because in surge of fury and strides, Yuta is standing in front of him, his fingers digging into Doyoung’s wet button-down. All he can think about is how strong Yuta is at this very moment, just as Doyoung’s back collides with the cold wall of the hotel lobby. Doyoung doesn’t have the courage to look up, to meet Yuta’s eyes, but as he opts to look down to the floor instead, all he can see are the ardent marks of Yuta’s own fingers. How long had Yuta worried about him?

“Listen to me for once, Kim Doyoung!” Yuta growled through gritted teeth. “For once in your life, stop being so up your own ass and think about everyone who cares about you!” _Think about me_ , is what those words wanted to convey, but ended up not doing so. Doyoung felt shame, guilt, and worst of all, the flood of disappointment of letting yet another friend down.

Perhaps it was his own body trembling, but it felt as if Yuta’s fists were trembling before they let up and released Doyoung’s shirt. “You’re such an idiot— I can’t— I can’t believe you just did that!” Yuta paused, out of breath and perhaps a bit resigned at the fact that Doyoung still had run out in the evening during one of the worst storms in history.

A deep sigh. “What did you want to accomplish?” Yuta asked, starkly softer. Doyoung could make out the rawness of his voice, as if he hadn’t used it for days. Doyoung selfishly believed this was his doing.

Yuta’s hands make their way down his arms then, a strong warmth that contrasts his freezing body, only to come to a complete stop at his wrists. His fingers encircle both of Doyoung’s wrists, and then, finally, the older man pulls Doyoung into an embrace that forces Doyoung’s arms to wrap around Yuta’s smaller frame.

“You giant idiot,” Yuta continues to murmur like a mantra into Doyoung’s wet shirt where his head rests, right at the crook of Doyoung’s neck. Yuta’s hand feels like fire at the small of his back, holding Doyoung with a tenderness Doyoung’s not sure he’s ever seen from Yuta until this moment. The flight of butterflies the contact releases is enough to have Doyoung dig his head at the open space between him and Yuta. Yuta reminds Doyoung of everything safe, of everything Doyoung has ever held close to him, and Doyoung isn’t an idiot. He knows that there’s more than just years of friendship between the two, but if he’s not an idiot then he sure as hell is a coward.

“I’m sorry,” Doyoung apologizes sincerely, his throat burning. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.”

And he is.

 

* * *

 

Doyoung meets his best friend when he, coincidentally, meets his other best friend. It’s really one of those cosmic events that people who believe in that stuff rave on about.

It’s raining outside, and Doyoung’s bedroom window has a view of the park across the street. He’s thirteen, studying hard to get good grades so that his father accepts and supports his career decision of becoming a Pokémon trainer. His father tells him that he has time to change his mind, but Doyoung assures him that nothing else piques his interest the way Pokémon and battles do. With hesitance and many restrictions, his father respects his decision.

By this point in time, Torchic has evolved into a Combusken, and Doyoung’s had the fortune of meeting Ralts and the Riolu his uncle Kyuhyun had gifted him after finding out he’d been interested in competitive battling.

“It’s raining so much,” his friend and neighbor Jaehyun comments from Doyoung’s bed, holding his portable gaming device. Unlike Doyoung, Jaehyun has confided that he isn’t sure about his future, not even about what high school he wishes to transfer to when junior high is done.

“Hmm?” Doyoung asks, absentmindedly and lifts his chin from its resting position on his palm. “Oh, yeah.” A pause, silence, and the buzzing noise of boss battles being cleared. “I wonder what Pokémon do during storms…” Doyoung mumbles more so to himself than to Jaehyun. In that moment, a flash catches Doyoung’s line of sight and he sees what appears to be a blue circle hit a tree in the park, knocking it on its side. The event happens in slow motion for what feels like an eternity, but once it’s over, Doyoung’s feet are moving by themselves.

 _Help me_.

“Doyoung?” Jaehyun calls after him, but it sounds too far away when he rounds the hallway and exits the apartment, only in his socks.

Luckily, the pedestrian crossing symbol is lit green by the time he reaches the bottom of apartment complex’s stairs and Doyoung breezes across the street and into the large park.

The park itself is full of verdant plants in full bloom with spring at the wake and it serves as the entrance to the riverbank that majestically cuts through the city. The park serves as a breath of fresh air, a break from the concrete jungle that is Slateport City, and most importantly, a connection to nature and Pokémon. Right now, it’s far from that.

The rain that is pouring down on everything is thick and heavy, making it difficult to even breathe. Static fills his mind, before the unfamiliar voice calls again:

 _Help me_.

His feet are still carrying him on their own accord, and all Doyoung can really do is make sure his lungs don’t run out of oxygen which in itself is becoming impossible to do. _Who are you?_ He manages to ask the voice in his head. He doesn’t receive an immediate response, but then a flash of blue floods his eyesight. The world around him becomes tinged with blue hues and white lights; every living organism around him emits a thin layer of white light that moves in front of him, and this newfound ability frightens Doyoung to his core.

 _Please, help me_.

Doyoung finds himself a few minutes into the forest, but he doesn’t stop running. He’s drenched, and he’s not sure if it’s more so drenched in nervous sweat or whether it’s rain. He comes to an abrupt stop near a clearing, very close to the riverbank, and in his peripheral can see the tree that is knocked over. In the center, however, he is faced with the backs of two slender men in identical uniforms. Their uniforms are composed of completely black shirts and pants, knee-length gray boots and gloves with peculiar-shaped hats. The scene seems straight out of a horror film, the ones Doyoung avoids when they’re scheduled on television.

Still, something within Doyoung stirs and his senses are heightened when his imagination awakens curiosity of what is beyond the two figures. Even though Doyoung knows these men are wearing dark clothing, is aware of their distinct colors, only their silhouettes are present when he draws closer.

“Stop!” his voice says, but Doyoung feels that he’s detached from the situation, can somehow only see his body moving and hear his voice saying words he doesn’t mean to say. The two figures tense before they simultaneously turn around to face the young boy, their eyes shadowed over by the front of their hats. The twin smirks they sport remain etched in Doyoung’s memory until this day.

“Leave it alone!” not-Doyoung says, and the smirks fall, deep frowns on thin lips replacing their expression.

There’s a cracking of energy that travels through his body, and everything happens slow-motion once more after that.

In front, one of the uniformed men raises his arm slowly, as if Doyoung is watching a movie and the movie is playing frame by frame. The other uniformed man is slowly rushing toward the opposite side, as if about to break out into a sprint. The distance between the two men allows for Doyoung to finally see the creature that has guided him into the forest, and the young boy finally understands it had to be him.

It’s some kind of small Pokémon, and it’s a covered in fur that is blue similar to the color of the ocean with distinct black, solid markings on its feet, hands, ear, and eye area. This is another instance in Doyoung’s life when he thanks his studying as he identifies the Pokémon to be Riolu, uncommon in the Hoenn region. Doyoung tenses when he sees red markings across the Pokémon’s body, its long ears outstretched on either side and its eyes completely hooded by the sky blue color that Doyoung has only been able to see.

“Leave that Riolu alone!” Doyoung hears not-Doyoung scream at the strangers. They defensively raise their arms and shout things Doyoung can’t hear before their Pokémon—a Zubat and Arbok—are charging towards him.

“Auroo, force palm on both of them!”

A flash of blue cracks across the sky, the same colored aura that had brought him here exploding across the sky as a ball of energy hits the strangers’ Pokémon straight on. The Pokémon fly in the blink of an eye, straight toward their trainers before downing their bodies onto the wet ground beneath them.

The sizzling energy from the unidentified Pokémon seems to relieve the pressure on his chest, his thoughts returning to his body, no longer seeing the world in the hues of blue he had been for the past few minutes. The rain is coming down harder, pelting against his skin, but Doyoung’s mind has been made for quite a while now and he decides to act upon his thoughts as he sprints towards the hurt Riolu.

Doyoung loses his stepping a few times, compromising his balance, but he manages to make it to the hurt Riolu and without thinking it further through, scoops the small Pokémon into his arms before continuing his sprint across the forest. Doyoung is too afraid to look back, too afraid to see the strangers chasing after him, too afraid to meet the gaze of a puzzled boy his age who looks at him with an expression of admiration.

 

* * *

 

Doyoung maintains a humble view about his travels, despite his preceding reputation, which becomes incredibly apparent when he’s back in his hotel room, barely enough space for his luggage and Yuta at the entryway.

Yuta pads his way through the small room after leaving his shoes by the door, confidently searching the room for Doyoung’s toiletry bag he knows he carries because Doyoung refuses to believe _all_ hotel rooms have amenities and that one will eventually let him down.

(They haven’t.)

Doyoung is stuck in a trance, eyelashes fluttering closed every now and then as his gaze follows Yuta’s short strides and swift movements. It takes a bit for his brain to catch up and register that Yuta has a hand extended toward him, offering Doyoung’s toiletry pouch to him. “I don’t want to hear a single protest,” Yuta warns, head leveled. “Go and shower before you get sick.”

Doyoung doesn’t reply, doesn’t dare to, and wordlessly takes the pouch from his friend’s grasp before entering the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

Inside, Doyoung has barely enough energy to turn on the shower-head and let the water run, hoping that by the time his body no longer betrayed him the water would be running warmer. Doyoung turns back toward the toilet and manages to fall onto the lid as his legs finally give way. Adrenaline, Doyoung rationalizes.

Below him, Doyoung can feel the heat radiating from the toilet seat despite the lid separating him from any physical contact. He inhales deeply, right hand coming to rub his right thigh through the wet fabric of his pants. The material bunches in his palm, fingers coming to close and grip on the fabric as lets the air escape his lungs.

He’s scrubbing the day’s exhaustion away as the water runs almost too hot for comfort, his skin red in retaliation but Doyoung ignores it. His mind is blank, and it’s a nice contrast to the thoughts that circuited his brain at a million words per hour just a few hours earlier.

Doyoung exits the bathroom in one of the robes provided by the hotel, and even from the small entryway, he can see the dark room illuminated by the bright lights that flash on the television. The lights cast Yuta’s silhouette against the wall, his torso a giant blob against the blank wall.

“Yuta,” Doyoung calls out, and his voice is raw from disuse. The exhaustion of the day finally catches up to him, and he barely manages to make it into the room before his body gives up on him yet again and sees Doyoung leaning onto the edge of the small vanity resting at the edge of the room.

Yuta sits up, eyes no longer looking at the television, before rising to his full height and walking over to Doyoung. The size of the room, or lack thereof, seems to amplify their proximity. The news anchor talking about tomorrow’s weather in the Unova region becomes white noise as he becomes entranced by the soft brown color found in Yuta’s irises. He’s not wearing his usual flashy contacts, and Doyoung is thankful for this view.

“Doyoung,” Yuta says firmly, but it comes out softer than he probably intends it, and he’s placing his hands on the vanity at either side of Doyoung frame. “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

Yuta is most definitely in his personal space now, if Doyoung hadn’t been able to measure this earlier. Yuta isn’t as tall as Doyoung, not even with Doyoung bent the way he is now. Doyoung can feel small puffs of warm air hitting his jaw, Yuta making the space between them infinitely smaller.

“Yeah,” Doyoung begins, swallowing the words he wants to say but is unable to. “Okay.”

He hates taking the backseat of his mind, but that’s all he can do as Doyoung’s head tilts down on its own to chase Yuta and presses his mouth to Yuta’s temple. He trails soft kisses from Yuta’s temple to his cheek, to his jaw, to his chin, before finally, hesitantly, hovering over Yuta’s mouth.

Doyoung isn’t a coward, believes he isn’t one, but it’s hard to be sure when he’s been in this exact same position a handful of times, and managed to break Yuta’s heart whenever the unraveling that followed had thrown Doyoung into a fits of panic.

It’s the same worry that ebbs his hesitance, it’s the fear of failing Yuta again that propels him to press an open-mouthed kiss on Yuta’s lips. Yuta’s lips are parted, Doyoung hears the gasp when they are, and the faint taste of mayonnaise tells Doyoung that Yuta probably had _okonomiyaki_ for dinner. The thought makes him laugh a bit, a tug of the lips, but it’s enough to get Yuta to tense.

Doyoung goes to work immediately, his cold hands lifting from his sides, searching for Yuta’s own warm ones. When he’s managed to find them, he moves them so that their hands are comfortably intertwined in front of him. Yuta’s looking at him with full-blown eyes, mouth slightly parted and cheeks flushed.

It’s all the motivation Doyoung needs to bring Yuta’s left hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it in numerous places. Yuta’s breath hitches at the same time Doyoung feels his eyelashes press into Yuta’s warm skin, only letting go after what feels like an eternity. “I promise.”

Yuta’s shoulders loosen at the gesture, and Doyoung takes advantage by leaning into the shorter man once more. However, Yuta has different plans as he seems to regain his composure and cards a hand through Doyoung’s hair, closing whatever distance Doyoung was already attempting to close.

This feels good, Doyoung thinks, and he finds himself tilting his head for a better angle, starts kissing Yuta with more thought than raw emotion he always finds himself consumed in when around Yuta. The kiss feels like an eternity, Doyoung’s thoughts rearing their ugly head as he begins to question why Yuta isn’t doing more, but then Yuta groans, slotting his body between Doyoung’s thighs as his tongue maps the inside of Doyoung's lower lip. Doyoung instinctively lets go of Yuta’s hands, hands he hadn’t realized he’d still been holding, and wraps them around Yuta’s waist before slipping his tongue into Yuta’s mouth.

One of Yuta’s hands comes up into his peripheral view, despite his eyes being slightly closed, and cups Doyoung’s cheek as Yuta takes control of the kiss. The kiss turns very confident, a kiss that only Yuta would be able to deliver, and Doyoung is suddenly extra glad that his weight is being supported by the vanity beneath him.

Yuta’s kisses just as Yuta handles everything else: he’s impulsive, if the nips at Doyoung’s bottom lip are anything to go by; he’s thorough, fixing their angles over and over again, the sounds of their groans a testament to the effectiveness of Yuta’s ministrations; and finally, Yuta is unwavering yet a bit nervous as he wraps his arms around Doyoung’s neck, hesitantly bringing them closer.

Doyoung can feel the droplets of water still present in his hair falling onto his shoulder, in part landing on his bathrobe as well.

“Doyoung,” Yuta breathes, moves away from Doyoung with such reluctance that his expression falters to that of pain as he rests his forehead against Doyoung’s. “We need to talk.”

Doyoung swallows. “I love you,” he says and his voice cracks, blood rushing to the tips of his ears. He doesn’t dare look up at Yuta’s responsive expression, instead opting to nip at his own lower lip. His hands rest on Yuta’s exposed biceps now, the skin beneath his fingertips the temperature of fire. “I’ve loved you for quite a while now, but I’m not good at even thinking about these things but—”

“You love Taeyong as well, right?”

 

* * *

 

“I heard he’s some kind of thug.”

“Isn’t he our age? That’s so young to be involved in that kind of stuff!”

“He’s an orphan apparently. Would explain why he’s a loner who only sticks around to his Pokémon.”

Doyoung hears the plastic wrapping in rip in between his fingers, straw slipping out. He handles it more roughly than he intends to, but he ends up forcefully inserting the straw into his milk carton as well. It’s much louder than what Doyoung’s interprets, apparently, because a couple of kids shoot him concerned looks and leers. Doyoung takes a sip of the milk, finding his throat too dry even after he swallows.

“You’re all jokes.”

“Excuse me?” A girl with bangs asks, having the audacity to look and sound offended. Doyoung shifts his body, away from the scenery and refusing to give the poor fools his time of day.

“I said you’re all annoying.” He grabs his backpack and bento box, no longer interested in sitting anywhere near his trainer academy peers. With a sling of his backpack onto his right shoulder, hands focusing on juggling the bento box and open milk carton, he walks past the group of kids.

“Your parents pay money for you to attend this school. You can’t fool anyone that you’re in here through merit alone.” His tone is clip, expression probably deadlier. Doyoung doesn’t care, hasn’t cared in a while.

“If you’re going to talk behind the back of someone who is vastly superior to you in battle, then there’s no room for you here.” Doyoung makes out the odd shifting of the group, even with his back turned toward them, and continues on his way.

He’s a bit upset, truth be told, because he likes to relax at that spot during his precious time in between academic and trainer studies. Part of the conditions his father had delineated allowing him to be a trainer included being able to juggle both lifestyles. It had proved difficult, but at age fourteen he feels confident that he’s beginning to fall into rhythm with this lifestyle. Sometimes it gets to be too much, however, but he finds solace in the hour off his busy schedule.

Relocating to a much quiet area proves time consuming, but it’s worth it as he finally plops down and eats his bento containing a small portion of _gyudon_ , mixed vegetables, tofu, and two _gyoza_ pieces. He pauses two bites in, speaking to himself. “Oh, I forgot to invite you out.” Reaching into his pocket belt, he pulls out two pokéballs, releasing Riolu and Combusken.

Combusken plops down next to him while Riolu sprints away, jumping from tree to tree above them. With a clear conscience that his partners are relaxing as well, Doyoung returns to his food. The canopy above them is vastly verdant, the sunlight coming down to warm their bodies on this cool, Fall afternoon.

“You didn’t have to defend me back there.”

Doyoung startles, looking up to meet void, gray eyes. He recognizes the boy from trainer school, the topic of conversation for all his peers. Doyoung averts his gaze. “I didn’t defend you, I merely stated the truth.” A pause, followed by his hands working swiftly to pack his bento box back into his school bag.

“They’re fools to speak ill of you when you’re better than them at what we do,” Doyoung declares as he gets up, dusting his pants of whatever residual dirt there is on his school slacks.

“What are you trying to do?” the boy asks, eyes darker than they were a second ago. Doyoung finally looks at him, takes in the boy’s features: the already well-defined jaw, the soft button nose, the fringe that falls onto his eyes, perhaps making them darker than they already are.

He shifts onto his other leg, eyes now searching for Riolu and he’s met with another Riolu who is definitely—

“I was there that day,” Taeyong says, gaze burning holes into the side of Doyoung’s head. “The day you rescued your partner, Riolu.”

Thinking back to that night has always proved a struggle for Doyoung, but he’s quite sure that no one beyond him and the masked members had been present. Riolu—his partner—had used its aura energy to command Doyoung to its location, Doyoung feeling some kind of responsibility over the Pokémon. When returning home, drenched from the rain and with severely wounded Pokémon, his parents had not asked any questions. Jaehyun had perhaps warned them in advance on the situation, but Doyoung wouldn’t be able to say for certain.

Doyoung pauses, reeling from his thoughts and meeting his Riolu’s gaze.

“If you hadn’t been there,” Taeyong swallows, “I would have gotten that Riolu out of there.” The way his words make an effort to emphasize his resolve strikes Doyoung as odd.

Brown eyes shift back at the teenager who is a year older than him, as gossip has managed to provide him, searching for any crack in the man’s facade. There isn’t.

“You what happened to that Riolu, don’t you?”

For the briefest of moments, Taeyong’s gray eyes glint with uncertainty, whether that be of his actions or his words, but Doyoung isn’t about to back off.

“Those assholes _hurt_ Riolu, they were ready to _kill it_ ,” Doyoung’s voice raises, thinning. He takes a deep breath.

“No,” Taeyong responds, running his right hand down his face.

“‘No’ what?” Doyoung asks, confused.

Taeyong’s hand falls to his side again, lips twitching into a taut line. “They weren’t going to kill Riolu because they need it alive.”

Doyoung’s head spins. “Need him for what?” he asks, sounding like a complete fool to his own years, but he needs to fucking know—

“For Team Rocket’s ultimate goal: controlling all Pokémon.”

 

* * *

 

The sunlight that slants through the blinds is both murderous and relieving; it’s been days since the sun hasn’t shined in Icirrus City. Doyoung shifts, finds his body pressed between the wall and a familiar back and his hands instinctively spread, his cold palms meeting the warm fabric of Yuta’s cotton, long sleeve pajama shirt. Yuta stirs, breathing dramatically at Doyoung’s ministrations before digging his head further into the bed’s pillow.

Doyoung takes this moment to appreciate how thankful he is for Yuta’s unwavering presence in his life. His past is his own to deal with, to cope with, but Yuta has never left his side in the past few years he’s known Doyoung. When Doyoung had lost it all, it had been difficult to piece himself back together, opting to take his dark secrets into a chest and locking it away in the recesses of his mind. After all, time was unforgiving and waited for no one. Doyoung would catch up.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Yuta says softly, voice thick with sleep.

“Am I?”

“It better be about me.” Doyoung can’t see his face, but he’s sure Yuta is smiling.

“Actually, it is.” Yuta releases a soft laugh, sending vibrations through Doyoung’s chest despite their positions.

Yuta shifts slightly, placing more pressure onto Doyoung’s arm that is losing circulation at this point. “So, what about me then?”

Doyoung leans into Yuta’s neck, pressing his lips softly onto the sensitive spot Yuta has complained when Doyoung has landed a hard smack on the area. “Was thinking about when you first asked me out.”

 

* * *

 

His Pokémon coordinator friend, Jinyoung, had gifted him tickets to see his show. Doyoung had missed Doyoung since the elder had embarked on his pursuit of becoming a top Coordinator, but figured they’d keep in touch regardless. In a way, it had motivated Doyoung to continue doing his utmost best in school, so that one day he could rival his friend. Now, he's nineteen and feels exhausted.

Yuta, the name the contests he’s watched on television have provided, had just won his respective contest in Lilycove’s Hyper Rank, standing next to the other three ranking winners, one being Jinyoung. Doyoung had arrived at the contest toward the end, at the final phase when Yuta sent out his Jolteon and Shedinja to dazzle the audience away as well as his competition. The performance had made him hold his breath, and it made Doyoung excited to see what other spectacles Yuta could put on.

After the contests had end, as Doyoung approaches the winner’s circle containing Jinyoung to congratulate him on his victory, he continues to make eye contact with the enigmatic Yuta. Yuta’s hair color is a dark brown with light streaks under the proper lighting.

“I’ll see you around?” Jinyoung says, lips turned up in an all-knowing smile. Doyoung doesn’t really pay attention, too caught up being entranced by Yuta’s glimpses.

“Hi, I’m Yuta. Do you wanna grab dinner with me?” Yuta approaches him just as Doyoung is leaving. He’s supposed to be packing for his ferry trip to Mossdeep City the day after.

“Excuse me?” Doyoung bewilderedly asks. “I—”

“—don’t have anything else to do,” Yuta offers and he’s smirking because Doyoung has no excuse to get out of this. He could lie, but Doyoung’s been called a jerk, even an asshole, but he isn’t a liar and he’s not about to start being one for something he isn’t quite against. And right now, Doyoung doesn’t have a valid excuse for turning the invitation down beyond the single duffel bag that carries his clothes.

“I’m Doyoung, and only if you buy,” Doyoung relents with a sigh, catching Yuta act upon some weird variation of a fist pump when the student finally concurs. Doyoung crosses his arms, hoodie slung over his head. The weather is practically freezing (because he can _see_ the small clouds form whenever he speaks), and he’s sure it’s going to rain soon, but Yuta is just wearing his performance outfit that looks too thin to shield him from the cold. Yuta is staring intently, his incessant, fond smile wavering over Doyoung.

“Don’t worry about that,” he answers cheerfully. “One of the perks of being a Pokémon coordinator is sponsors.”

“Sponsors _?_ ” Doyoung copies.

“Yes, sponsors,” Yuta repeats, almost as if Doyoung is a baby. Doyoung wants to glare at the latter, but Yuta is too quick and is beckoning Doyoung toward the exit. “The exit is this way!” Doyoung follows Yuta, their steps in sync but not quite reminiscent of each other as they make their way out of Lilycove Hall. They walk silently, the faint buzz of murmuring as spectators also leave the complex, Yuta leading the way with Doyoung a few steps behind until they reach a red door. Doyoung can’t help but let out a squeak because silver Metagross stares down intently at them. It is huge, and although he’s used to battling a few competitively, none of them compare to the sheer size of this Metagross.

“Is this your Pokémon?” is what Doyoung manages, but somehow it’s enough since there is now a laughing Yuta in his face.

“My dearest Cobalt,” Yuta sing-songs all the way to the steel Pokémon, running a hand on one its steel legs. Yuta beckons Doyoung over to him as the Metagross approaches the floor. Yuta hops onto the top of the Pokémon’s body, extending his arm out to Doyoung. Doyoung takes it, hauling himself next to Yuta. Metagross uses its telekinetic powers to whisk them through the air, the ride to wherever they’re going silent, the occasional wind making Doyoung yelp in surprise. Doyoung doesn’t think they’re _friends_ per say, but Yuta is surprisingly not bad company. Granted they’ve just met. He smiles a lot—which unnerves Doyoung to no extent whenever someone does that—but he’s a good guy nevertheless, Doyoung almost feels instantly stupid for coming to like Yuta’s company with such an interaction proving to be the only reason.

Yuta could be planning his murder for all he knows. At least Jinyoung would have known about his disappearance.

The Metagross’ descent onto the roof of the the Lilycove Department Store makes Doyoung’s stomach knot, shoulders tensing when they land. Yuta is the first to hop off.

“Hope you don’t mind if we get some _tonkatsu_ ,” Yuta clears up because he sees Doyoung tense, but no. It’s not that he doesn’t want _tonkatsu_ , he just wonders why Yuta so freely enjoys riding on the Pokémon’s back.

After realizing he’s been silent for a few moments, Doyoung shakes his head, frowning at his own actions. “No, no. Of course not. I just— I’m a bit tired? Sorry for zoning out.” Doyoung offers pathetically, but Yuta nods in agreement, smiling and his eyes are shining with what seems like mischief?

“Well then, should we get going before you fall asleep on my Pokémon? There’s this wonderful restaurant inside I always come to when I’m in Lilycove.”

Tonkatsu Pako is located on the floor below the rooftop, a medium, quaint _tonkatsu_ restaurant. The decoration of the food place is subtle, but it’s present and allows the customer to immerse themselves into their dining experience instead of focusing on their environment. In Doyoung’s opinion, this is the best type of decor.

Most of the time he passes the day feeling incredibly fragmented, as if his head is thinking one thing while his body is keeping him safe from self-combustion. He usually feels incredibly anxious and resorts to strange ways of dealing with the sudden feel of ants crawling on his back. At the same time, when needed of him, he does not hesitate to take initiative and lead conversations. In such cases, Doyoung always feels like a robot. The feeling—even over the years—has failed to dissipate. Doyoung can’t even be labeled anything outside the realm of a workaholic: school and Pokémon; he doesn’t play video games obsessively or blog or do whatever others his age do. During a term break, he remembers realizing that as a defense mechanism, he was cursed to work harder whenever he felt anxious. Doyoung is Doyoung, regardless of what society implies and it’s weird that he has this epiphany at this restaurant, sitting in front of Yuta. It’s as if suddenly, promptly, he realizes that he can’t even order normally at _this_ restaurant because he doesn’t know what half of the food on the menu is. He’s been told he’s smart, but the routine is beginning to drag, and he no longer feels the joy of battling as much as he used to. Was perhaps becoming the Champion of all Champions too ambitious? Still, Doyoung desperately remarks, it’s never enough _._ Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he’s completely out of his head when he doesn’t appreciate what he has, but Doyoung isn’t someone who lacks creativity or ambition.

Which is precisely why he is so intrigued by Yuta, who sits across the booth from him, flipping through the illustrated menu. Yuta seemingly doesn’t know any of this about Doyoung, and it’s refreshing to see Yuta approach him without wanting in on Doyoung’s recently growing network.

(Something about Yuta tells Doyoung that even if he did know, he wouldn’t care.)

Which also makes him question his inability to have told Yuta “no”, doesn’t know why he came here, a seemingly normal restaurant inside a department store with Yuta. There are other obvious patrons present, but Doyoung just doesn’t know any of them to feel uncomfortable. He can feel the chilled jasmine green tea in his hand making his palm slightly cooler as he with his eyes. He’s just too busy finally taking in Yuta in his Pokémon coordinator outfit: he’s wearing a slightly too-loose pink button up, white cardigan vest with red and black lines that run parallel to one another as they run around the collar. The main piece of his outfit is the ribbon that rests at the center of Yuta’s chest, a golden ribbon imitation of the ribbons given in the Hoenn Pokémon Contests.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Yuta announces suddenly, and Doyoung vaguely registers the words as he is too busy getting lost in his thoughts.

Doyoung wants to choke on his own drink—because why is he noticing things like this? _—_ but manages to control his urge flee the restaurant and never see Nakamoto Yuta again. Instead of doing so, however, Doyoung flinches at all of the weak thoughts in his mind and scowls. His insecurities always get him to look like a douchebag.

Doyoung’s already creased himself into the corner of a booth when Yuta returns from the restroom into the opposite side, all limbs and smiles. Yuta has a certain sort of loose grace about the way he moves, like he’s in a state of smooth, continuous motion, even when he’s curling his legs under him in the booth and pushing up his sleeves to re-fold a sprawled out napkin on the table. He eyes it dangerously for a brief second before he’s looking at Doyoung again, usual smile in place. The whole situation makes Doyoung more aware of how everything Doyoung does is spasmodic yet pointed. The amount of times Gongmyung had reprimanded him over it is a testament to the extent of his observation. When the waitress arrives with two plates of their choice in _tonkatsu_ selections, Doyoung waits until Yuta’s pouring his _tonaktsu_ sauce on the side to dip his slices, Yuta smiling at him over his attempts to pour the correct amount. Yuta smiles a lot, Doyoung notices.

Doyoung doesn’t know how much he says it in his head, but it’s so annoying that Yuta hasn’t apparently any other face other than that shit-eating grin that’s always plastered on his face.

Usually Doyoung finds that kind of thing disturbing, but on Yuta, he just finds himself being led to a restaurant he hasn’t remotely noticed in the couple of times he’s rested in Lilycove City. Which is pretty disturbing itself, but Doyoung is neurotic enough to think anything is okay for the most part, as long as it doesn’t involve him.

“So,” Yuta says, still smiling. “You’re from Hoenn.”

Doyoung stares. That’s a first. People usually think he’s from outside of the region, considering how vastly diverse his Pokémon team is. Doyoung briefly thinks about Lucario, how the Pokémon had decided to train by itself just outside of the city. Doyoung swallows down the knot in his throat, the uneasiness he’s felt all week returning.

“I’ve seen a few of your competitions. You’re not exactly unknown, per say. You can even call me a fan,” Yuta continues, squinting thoughtfully and gesturing with the flailing napkin his has in hand, the other holding shredded cabbage to his mouth with his chopsticks. “I also know you have one coming up in Mossdeep.” He takes a bite, chewing softly on the cabbage mixed with some _tonkatsu_ sauce. It looks really good, but now Doyoung is curious as to why Yuta hasn’t made a bigger deal.

It’s not the worst icebreaker Doyoung’s ever endured, but definitely the strangest. Well—no not really because Jungwoo started talking to him because he wanted to know if Doyoung knew some Mako in his first year maths class. Jungwoo kept making hand gestures to show the size of Mako’s breast or something obscenely similar that, Doyoung vaguely remembers. So no, definitely not the strangest introduction.

“You’re spending time here, and have moved all across the region. I’ve seen some of your competitions in Sinnoh, too, not to mention other regions,” the Pokémon coordinator starts, “and you’re hardly ever in Hoenn. Something tells me you don’t really like to be here unless you have to.” Yuta swallows a bite of his _tonkatsu_ and gives Doyoung a sort of measuring look. “But I’d say you’re from Rustboro.”

_Huh._

Doyoung takes a hold of his own _tonkatsu_ with his steel chopsticks, takes a bite, then sets them down and hooks his fingers together. He looks intently at Yuta until Doyoung is done chewing his bite. “So you think you’re right?”

Yuta raises his eyebrows. “Of course I’m right. Unless you’re an alien from some other planet who just happened to get dropped on planet Earth.”

Doyoung gawks at Yuta’s foolish audacity and the latter just smiles until he takes in Doyoung’s face and chokes on his own water.

“Oh my god,” he’s laughing but speaking in between dry hiccups, “you _are_ an alien from another planet!”

“Your deduction skills are pitiful and I’m afraid you will never be Sherlock Holmes. I only talked to some people at school, so not many attachments,” Doyoung counters coolly, brows furrowed. He thinks of Taeyong, but even his best friend moved around too quickly for Doyoung to constantly keep tabs on him.

“I bet that went pretty well,” Yuta responds, but Doyoung isn’t sure as to whether or not lunge at the latter because it’s supposed to be offensive. Doyoung decides to do nothing else but eat his delicious _tonkatsu_.

“When I was ten, my father found out that he didn’t like the city too much,” Yuta quickly surges with a new subject. The way Yuta’s voice becomes softer when mentioning his father does not go unnoticed by Doyoung. “He—cared like any father, you know? So we moved to just outside of Lavender Town, where I grew up for seven years. We never went back to Saffron, and thus I grew up with limited access. Going around, doing the Contest gig, it’s been hard. It’s here where I had to re-incorporate myself into this world I wasn’t accustomed to, and now it’s this new culture I have to continuously explore.”

Doyoung doesn’t really know what to say because he’s surprised Yuta is able to so openly tell him his story. Still, Doyoung is flattered at the fact that Yuta is telling him all of this on their first hangout. There is peculiarly less questions at this point about Yuta’s origin or who his parents are than there are questions of what Yuta likes. Like Doyoung thinks, it’s strange but he assumes he should be thankful for Yuta’s trust.

“At least you got to see the girls of Saffron for a while. I heard they’re really good looking,” Doyoung tries to playfully throw out and it works because Yuta is laughing. Doyoung wishes he actually cared about Saffron girls. Yuta’s now shaking his head in a strange way that makes Doyoung’s heart skip a beat, but then he realizes Yuta is laughing at his joke and can’t help the smile that blooms on his face.

“They’re not that great,” Yuta dismisses with a purse of his lips, swatting the air in front of him. “If anything, girls from Goldenrod are better looking.”

They chit chat a bit, this comfort zone wavering over them as they talk the night away. It’s hiding inside his skin, but Yuta seems to not care and just keeps talking to him. It’s the best night he’s had in a long time, he must admit because letting go with Yuta is seemingly easy. They carry on the conversation for at least two hours, arguing over the best Pokémon type match ups, the best Pokémon to be partners with, and what items help most on journeys.

The things Yuta has to say are actually really fascinating. Doyoung’s can’t remember the last time he met a genuinely fascinating person. Doyoung gets the sense that he’s right, that Yuta is unique.

So yeah, on this level? Doyoung has no problem connecting. The conversation eventually peters out, though, and then Yuta’s giving him a look that craves for Doyoung to start asking questions. Doyoung _never_ asks questions, though. It’s not because he doesn’t have much to say but rather it’s the fact that Doyoung doesn’t know what to talk about. He rarely connects on this level with other people. This is the part Doyoung doesn’t know how to do. He shuffles through about twenty topics in his head before blurting out, “So, you’re a Pokémon Coordinator?”

Yuta blatantly laughs. “I suppose that would explain why I’m always on television.” Yuta smirks for a second before swallowing another bite of _tonkatsu_. “I’ve been attempting to make my way up the ranks. I had to start at the very bottom, just like everyone else. But today’s victory means that I now have access to Master ranks. That’s where your friend is at, yeah?” Yuta’s face suddenly flashes with a bit of pain, making Doyoung wince.

He shuffles his feet underneath the table. He looks out the window and notices it has started raining. Okay. He can do this. “What’s that like?”

“I’m assuming you mean competing and now starting off from scratch, correct?”

“Yes, and—well, I wanna know that, too.”

Yuta smiles. Doyoung has lost track. “Well, for one, I hate dressing up.” He makes vague gestures at the outfit Doyoung had ogled just a few minutes before. “I mean they’re pretty great, but not everyone can rock them. I mean, I _can_ rock them, but most of the time I feel uncomfortable in them. I prefer comfort over fashion.” He’s laughing now, as if he remembered a joyful moment in his life where he was utterly embarrassed and Doyoung wants to know what is, so badly.

“Oh, and here I was thinking you could give me a pointer or two,” Doyoung says.

“Naturally, I’m disappointed that I cannot meet your expectations,” Yuta says. His voice is deadpan, but his eyes are all wrinkly at the corners. “But forget the outfits, Doyoung. Competitions open your eyes to such fascinating, beautiful, talented Pokémon—“

“Which says something about you,” Doyoung slyly sneaks in because he’s a little shit like that, and—what is he doing? He practically doesn’t know Yuta and he’s already initiating banter with him.

Yuta narrows his eyes and points his used napkin at him in suspicion. “—and of course you’re already trying to say that I am a terrible competitor! You’re a terrible person.” Doyoung is laughing way too much behind his cabbage at the overly dramatic Yuta in front of him, but the coordinator is just too funny to not laugh at.

“And so I have been told,” Doyoung tells him. “My best friend doesn’t get along with anyone back home, but I used to get so angry when they made comments about him. I told them to shut up all the time, until one day someone cried when I confronted them over their mean words.” It’s Yuta’s turn to laugh at him, and then they etch into another comfortable silence.

“You must be a great friend,” Yuta finally relents. “I think I would really like to become friends and see you on your path to becoming a Pokémon Champion.” It’s almost said in a pleading tone and Doyoung picks up on the hurt in Yuta’s voice, but he decides not to pry. If—given the chance—he and Yuta were destined to become friends, then it would only be fair to ask later on.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out? I don’t know, I’ll try to fit you into my schedule.” Yuta looks a bit confused so Doyoung pipes up. “Not that I really have a schedule, considering I immediately took you up on wanting to get dinner.” Yuta’s lips immediately tug into a blinding smile before he’s looking at his watch. Whatever time it currently is, the coordinator seems to blow it off.

Yuta nods seriously and lowers his voice. “I think we would have stabbed each other if we had been childhood friends. You are such a prick.”

“And you’re an assshole,” Doyoung says, and doesn’t mean it, just like Yuta hadn’t meant when he called him a prick. He’s pressing his tongue against his teeth to try to keep a straight face, but there’s this insane, alien kind of energy buzzing under his skin, and he can’t bust down the corners of his mouth. “I don’t do people."

“That sounded strangely sexual,” Yuta says matter-of-factly, as if he hadn’t just made a joke about sex. Doyoung finally cracks. Yuta's knees brush his under the table, just once, and Doyoung hides his smile behind his half-eaten _tonkatsu_.

Doyoung wants to be best friends with Yuta.

 

* * *

 

Yuta emerges from the shower, changed into his comfortable sweats and oversized hoodie. He’s toweling his blond hair, Doyoung flipping through numerous news channels before settling on a Pokémon Safari Zone special about conservation of bio-habitats when there’s a soft knock at the door. Yuta stills slightly, looks briefly at the door before continuing his ministrations.

“Can you get that?” he says, and it seems he’s deliberately avoiding eye contact with Doyoung. Huh, strange.

“Sure,” Doyoung says a bit hesitantly, and he knows Yuta is aware of the sudden, tense atmosphere.

The door is only two strides away in Doyoung-leg terms, but it feels as if gravity has intensified and pulling him to the floor. He feels light headed, and suddenly, all his senses are coming to life and intensifying. Doyoung is afraid to even open the door now, opting to not even see who is on the other side of the peephole. Slowly, he turns the brass door knob and pulls the door open.

When he opens it, he’s face to face with the last person he expects to be outside his hotel door.

“Taeyong?” his voice cracks, eyes wildly taking in his ex-best friend.

“Doyoung. We need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

Taeyong turns out to be the best friend Doyoung could have ever wished for, until he isn’t.

At the age of nineteen, the night Doyoung loses Lucario to Team Rocket, Taeyong sends his partner Greninja to fetch for the younger man. As all other days that appear to turn for the worst, it’s raining where Taeyong suggests they meet up. They meet in the outskirts of Mossdeep City, the airspace center present on the horizon.

“I’m leaving.”

Doyoung stands underneath the protection of the leaves above, his fists digging deeper into the pockets of his sweater. He’s confused by the nature of the statement, obviously, but the uncomfortable knot at the pit of his stomach is unraveling after a week of bothering the trainer. Is this what Doyoung’s body had somehow predicted and began dreading?

“I don’t really get what you mean. Are you leaving the competition?” Pausing, Doyoung takes the initiative to step forward, coming closer to Taeyong. He’s wearing his usual tracksuit sweater with dark jeans that make him somehow shorter than he is. Doyoung has commented on it a few times, earning him a soft chuckle from Taeyong. It’s part of their routine banter. “I know Team Rocket interrupted the competition but—”

“You don’t understand,” Taeyong says, uncharacteristically loud. The rain itself is being loud, but Taeyong is louder as he plants his feet further into the wet ground. “You don’t know who I am.”

Doyoung scoffs at that comment, briefly bristles at Taeyong’s blatant disregard for his Doyoung’s presence. Doyoung doesn’t know who Doyoung is?

“What’s gotten into you?” is the first thing Doyoung manages to say, temper flaring and arms coming up to push Taeyong back a few feet. The air cracks with tension, the rain adding another dimension of conflict. “Don’t know who you are?” Another scoff. “I’m your best fucking friend, you asshole.”

Doyoung thinks about all the times he’d try to finish assignments quicker to have lunch with Taeyong, about all the time they spent training until their Pokémon were exhausted and they had to hurry their Pokémon to the Pokémon Center. Doyoung thinks about all the times Taeyong helped him out, not caring one bit what the ramifications entailed to him, thinks even harder about all the times Taeyong chose him over everyone else.

The tears begin to well up in his eyes, but he chooses to ignore them.

“My name is Lee Taeyong. I grew up with parents who didn’t really care about me. My father didn’t feel I was worthy enough to earn his tutelage and my mother didn’t want anything to do with me because I was a constant reminder of her mistake in marrying my father.” Taeyong’s tone is cold, head facing at the floor beneath them.

“I was assigned a caretaker, but they were never family. The closest thing I ever got to family were the Pokémon that would interact with me.” Taeyong pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Pokémon didn’t know my family’s history, didn’t know that my father pursued my mom’s hand in marriage for political reasons only.” Taeyong clenches his fists now, and his arms are shaking. Doyoung flinches.

“So I made sure that I would protect them no matter what.”

Doyoung reels, eyes focusing in and out on Taeyong. “What does any of this have to do with me? Are you telling me I can’t be your friend because I don’t know this? Because if that’s the case—”

Taeyong shakes his head, raising his head and staring Doyoung with a dark expression. “I have things that I need to do by myself, Doyoung. This requires me leaving. Team Rocket’s attack on the competition today made me realize that they’re already much ahead of their schedule and—”

“Schedule?”

Taeyong seems to mull over whether to answer Doyoung’s question or not, and seems to finally opt to not do so. “I can’t tell you.” He seems adamant, and somehow that just makes Doyoung’s heart break even more.

“I need to leave soon, but—”

“It’s fine,” Doyoung says with finality. “I guess we were both on different pages. I thought you were my best friend, but I’m coming to understand that you never thought that way about me.”

Mirroring the chaos in his head, a loud, sudden explosion goes off in the distance.

“What in the world is that?” Taeyong yells, his partner Auroo appearing by his side. Lucario appears by Doyoung’s side, and Doyoung feels their joint aura flare.

 _We need to go,_  Lucario speaks into his mind. _There are people and Pokémon to help_. Doyoung nods before launching into a sprint.

It turns into the worst night of Doyoung’s life as Team Rocket promptly captures Lucario, and tortures him into controlling the minds of Pokémon. Doyoung can't stop Lucario from falling lifeless onto the floor, can't stop himself from burning Team Rocket's hideout with the help of Blaziken afterward. He doesn't remember much from that night, minus the burned image of a lifeless Lucario in his arms.

 

* * *

 

Doyoung sits calmly on the hotel room bed, staring down at his clasped hands, too afraid even now to look directly at Taeyong. He hears Taeyong shift, Yuta mirroring his nervous habit before there’s an audible sigh.

“I set this up,” Yuta admits. “Last night, before you came back. I told Taeyong he should come and see you since you’re both in town.” Yuta sounds hesitant, something he normally isn’t. Doyoung almost feels bad for making him this anxious about speaking to Taeyong. Almost. How does he know Taeyong?

“And…” Yuta trails off, the silence enveloping the room again. Realization flashes across Yuta’s face.

“Right, I’ll leave the room.”

“Stay,” Taeyong and Doyoung say simultaneously, Doyoung going the extra bit by reaching out for Yuta’s hand. The blond takes it without hesitation, running his thumb over the back of Doyoung’s hand.

It’s silent for a couple of more minutes, before Doyoung deems it far too much. “Why are you here, Taeyong?” he tries to come off firmly, but instead it sounds weak to his ears. Yuta tightens his grip on his hand a bit more when Doyoung’s voice cracks. The tears well once more.

“My real surname is Jung. My name is Jung Taeyong, son of Jung Yunho,” Taeyong trails off, fingers digging into his own skin. Doyoung is still too afraid to meet Taeyong’s gaze head on, but as the nails leave red marks further into his own skin, Doyoung’s brain registers the name Taeyong had uttered.

“Jung Yunho? As in—”

Taeyong nods, confirming his thoughts. “Team Rocket leader, Team Rocket’s U-Know, Jung Yunho.”

“Wh—” but Doyoung quiets, Yuta’s other hand moving to his shoulder. It clasps his shoulder quietly.

“I’ve worked tirelessly since the age of ten to make sure that his plans could be foiled. When I was fourteen, I managed to release the twin Riolu’s from one of the laboratories north of Rustboro. I caught up to one, who is my partner, Lucario, today. The other…”

“... Called to me when it was in trouble,” Doyoung deduces aloud, Taeyong’s silence confirming his words.

“I saw it all go down, how you saved Riolu, how you fled with it. I admired you for that, and was surprised to see you attending my trainer school. You defended me, and my admiration grew tenfold. Then you became my best friend and…”

Doyoung waits patiently, finally lifting his gaze to see Taeyong’s pained expression on the brink of tears. “I’m sorry I never got to tell you that. I’m sorry we ended our friendship because I made you believe we weren’t best friends.”

Taeyong is crying now, the tears streaming down his cheeks. Doyoung’s heart aches on another level of pain, and he realizes that this is love, that this is caring about someone to the point that their pain is your pain.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect Lucario. I’m sorry I didn’t do more that night. It was my father’s fucking fault that you—”

“Enough,” Doyoung whispers, and he’s suddenly tired, tired beyond belief. “I’m tired of all of this,” he voices. “Lucario wasn’t your fucking responsibility!” he finds himself shouting, because it’s egocentric of Taeyong to blame himself like this. “When will you stop thinking that everything rests on your shoulders!” Doyoung continues, running out of breath. "It's all Team Rocket's fault for believing that the destiny of Pokémon are their's for the taking."

“Doyoung,” Yuta warns, and it’s all too much.

“Since you met me, you weren’t alone. I grew up thinking I was alone, too! But then you became my friend and it wasn’t as lonely anymore. I had Blaziken, I had Lucario, the rest of my team and above all, I had you.” Doyoung is crying now, Yuta letting him go so that he can deal with the overwhelming emotions by himself. That’s another thing he loves about Yuta: he knows when to give him his space.

“I know,” Taeyong swallows, “I know that now. But I didn’t know that before and—”

“You hurt me a lot,” Doyoung says. “I lost you right before I lost Lucario. That night was so difficult, and if Yuta hadn’t searched for me immediately, I don’t know where I’d be right now.” Doyoung’s words are raw, because he believes he at least owes Taeyong this.

Taeyong wipes his tears with the sleeves of his hoodie, then, “I understand. I know you don’t want anything to do with me but—”

There’s a frustrated growl that rips through the air, Doyoung shooting onto his two feet to mirror the shift in tension. “There you go again, assuming shit for others! You’re such an idiot! I can’t believe I’ve been in love with you for five years!”

Silence presides over the room, Taeyong’s eyes wide, Yuta’s tense presence in his peripheral vision.

“Even,” Doyoung begins hesitantly, “even when you left, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had Yuta by my side, but you were still everpresent. I wondered if you were okay, if you’d suffered from what happened in Mossdeep as well or—”

Taeyong lurches forward, standing just slightly below Doyoung’s height and he pulls back to look at Doyoung, steel gray eyes glassy and lips quivering. Doyoung is waited so long for this, waited so long so he finally leans in and kisses Taeyong. Taeyong kisses back instantly after he realises what’s happening, wraps his arms around Doyoung’s neck. A switch is turned on in his mind flips, his hands reach to cup Taeyong’s face. Doyoung guides him to a wall by his waist as they make out.

They’re new at this, new at this with one another at least, but they’re also in love, and he realizes that Taeyong has cared about him all along, right back. Doyoung loves the feel of Taeyong’s lips, and he wonders how much better it would feel if Yuta’s were—

As if on cue, Yuta clears his throat. “This is hot and all, as per usual angst, but I’m feeling kind of left out.” Doyoung can hear the pout, but he ignores him a bit longer in lieu of mapping the inside of Taeyong’s mouth.

After a bit, they pull back and Taeyong speaks. “I want you to know that I like Yuta, too,” Taeyong says. Doyoung tilts his head to kiss Taeyong one more time, and admits, “so do I.” Doyoung turns to look at Yuta, Taeyong in his arms, and Yuta’s smile is blooming like the prettiest flower in a flower field. This smile is different, it feels complete, and Doyoung wonders if it’s because it’s a joint effort between the two.

“Come here,” Taeyong says softly, detaching himself from Doyoung’s side. Doyoung misses the warmth, but is ecstatic when Yuta replaces it with an equally ardent warmth.

“You are both the worst,” Yuta sighs, but it sounds full of relief.

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees.

“But I have a question,” Doyoung declares.

“Shoot.” Yuta mumbles, head digging into Taeyong’s neck.

“How do you both know each other?”

Yuta laughs, and Taeyong laughs louder. “I just want to cuddle with you both right now,” Yuta admits, but continues when Doyoung whines. “But if you must really know, the simplified answer is that we both fanboy’d over one of your competitions.”

Doyoung stares at them incredulously, eyes shining with unshed tears. “That’s the absolute worst way to—”

He doesn’t get to finish, because Yuta is crashing his lips onto Doyoung’s and it’s a mess of limbs and happiness. Doyoung thinks he deserves, thinks he’s deserved this for a long time.


End file.
